


My life is a candle and a wick

by Maharetchan



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Grief/Mourning, James Bond AU, M/M, Plot Twists, Secret Relationship, Temporary Character Death, sort of inspired by Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharetchan/pseuds/Maharetchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will are secret agents. And agents can die at any time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My life is a candle and a wick

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [My life is a candle and a wick我的生命如蜡炬与灯芯byMaharetchan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794628) by [Killde_Achilles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killde_Achilles/pseuds/Killde_Achilles)



> 1\. I entirely blame tumblr user [claricemstarlings](http://claricemstarlings.tumblr.com/). I cried while writing this, I hope you're happy.  
> 2\. The title comes from the song "Hope in the air" by Laura Marling.  
> 3\. I have a tumblr ([samiferist](http://samiferist.tumblr.com/) ) so feel free to message me there if you feel like. I'd love it! ^^  
> 4\. My first language is not English and I don't have an English beta reader. So please excuse the grammar mistakes that you'll probably find.  
> 5\. I love comments!

“Agents can die at any time.”

Will used to whisper these words against the warm and soft texture of Hannibal's skin, against his scars and his still healing wounds, while the man caressed his hair and smiled that smile that promised nothing but troubles for him.

“They are expendable, merely pawns in the optic of the great game. They are nothing. They are rarely mourned when they fall, readily replaced and then forgotten... this is how things go.”

Hannibal kept smiling and let out a long held breath after a moment, his eyes shining with a dark curiosity that made Will's skin crawl and itch on his bones.

“And would you mourn me, Will? Would you cry for me?”

He never answered that questions.

\---

Hannibal Lecter has been a Double-0 for almost five years when Will arrives at his section; he has heard the stories people whisper about him, half amazed half scared, has seen the cold and metallic aura that wraps around him like a cocoon.

Will has felt it on him, examining him like a piece of meat, with an hunger to which Will replies almost with indifference. He's the new, awkward and silent new agent, who sits at his desk and tries to do his job surrounded by a chaos that hurts his ears and his mind, who is too clever to do just that, but also too locked up inside himself to do anything more.

People look through him like he's invisible, like he doesn't exist; he's glad for that. He belongs in dark and dusty corners, where nobody can see him and he can feel safe.

But Hannibal Lecter can see him and the thought, as time passes, starts to feel more and more like a pleasant rush of warmth than the cold bite of uneasiness.

When their gazes meet one day across the office, for a long moment it's like nothing around them is moving anymore, like an electricity is running between them, electrocuting their bodies until they have to look away before the pressure starts to hurt.

Lecter starts to talk to him about small things, brings him food and stares at him while he eats it.

Will accepts everything with the knowledge that it'll be all over as soon as the thrill of curiosity and novelty will wear off.

He has heard the stories, he knows his this is going to end.

“Don't trust Double-0 agents.” 

Beverly Katz tells him one day, glancing in the direction of department head Bloom who is talking fast to Lecter, almost scolding him.

“They are unreliable, promiscuous and have a woman, or a man, in every harbor.”

Will smiles weakly and reassures her that he can take care of himself.

When Lecter invites him to his home that night, he says yes.

\---

Hannibal used to wake up much earlier than him, used to kiss his forehead and whisper things in his ear that he could not remember after.

He used to fuck him in the shower and leave bright red marks on his hips and chest, despite Will's protests.

“Who could ever see them after all?”

He loved classical music, good food and the Opera; all qualities and tastes one would not expect to find in a man who was used to kill people for a living.

And Hannibal Lecter knew how to kill.

Will read the files, saw the body count go up with every mission, more and more wounds decorating his body. The same hands that touched him gently and lovingly could also strangle him with the same efficiency.

He never cared, never gave the thought more attention than it deserved.

\---

Will knows that every time they have sex in a less private place than his or Hannibal's home, they risk, at the very least, an official reprimand from Alana Bloom; there's nothing that escapes her eyes and every time they meet, Will knows that she knows.

But no comments are ever made and they carry on.

Hannibal kisses him boldly while he's making copies, caresses him in absolutely not innocent ways while they are alone in the office, though they both know you're never really alone in there.

They have sex in one of the restrooms once and Will comes so hard he almost passes out. The thrill becomes them and it becomes everything.

Once, while Hannibal is on a mission, he asks Dr. Bloom how a man like him got recruited, why such a dangerous individual is allowed to do such a job.

“He's good at what he does. And we need men who are good at what they do.”

“And what he's good at?”

The woman smiles at him.

“Killing. And following orders.”

When Hannibal comes back, unharmed thankfully, he takes him out, shows off and they have one of their best evenings together. Will gets drunk on expensive wine and laughs and kisses him like it's the end of the world and all he wants to do is exactly that.

They never speak about his missions, Will knows not to ask questions about things he's not allowed to know.

Hannibal fucks him on the bed, in the shower; fucks him until Will's throat is raw and his whole body sore and too tired to move. The man licks and touches and bites and scratches everywhere he can reach, makes him pliant and soft between his hands, until he forgets everything but him.

There's a light in his eyes after that makes his heart ache and that he buries under more kisses, until they're both breathless.

\---

The world used to have bright colors; dawns and sunsets, rainy and sunny days.

After Hannibal, Will's days were all solid grays and cold winds that no warm body lying next to him could chase away.

\---

Hannibal gives him a pocket watch he stole from a mob boss once, right before his last mission: it's surprisingly classy and elegant, something one could wear without looking ridiculous. The man likes to show it to people and tell the, obviously fake, story of where it comes from.

People stare at him wide eyed and impressed. Will knows the truth and rolls his eyes at the scene, at the weird look of pride he sees in his eyes.

“Why?”

Will stares at it and wonders what it means, why is he giving it to him now. Their intimacy is deeper than he wanted it to be at first, something that took him by surprise, but that he ended up loving more than it would be wise to.

He and Hannibal talk for hours while in bed, the man never yields the coldness in him, but Will can dig under it and savor the honest parts of him under the bravado, the cruelty and the darkness that follow him like a shadow.

He drinks it in and wraps it around himself like an armor.

Hannibal kisses him behind his ear and licks the skin there, caressing it with his teeth before answering.

“Because I like how it looks on you.”

Will rides him that night and scratches his back until there are bloody marks there and blood under his fingernails; Hannibal bites his neck and when he turns him on his back and fucks him hard, Will can feel words that fight to come out trapped in his throat, strangled by his inability to speak and confess what moves silently in his heart.

They sleep entangled together; Will savors the warmth and dreams of impossible futures.

\---

Would you mourn me if I died? Would you cry for me?

Would you remember me? Remember us?

Yes, yes I would. I have been mourning you, crying for you and remembering you for the past two years.

No man can fuck you out of me, you're trapped inside a bubble in my heart I can't burst, you're a shrapnel I can't get out of my soul.

Time is a gray area where I'm nothing but the memory of what could have been for us if we had not been who we were.

I remember too much and nothing can make me forget.

\---

Alana Bloom gives him the news with a professional tone that suits her well, but with a sadness in her eyes that digs craters inside his heart.

He nods without saying anything.

There's a hollow full of burning fire inside his chest, destroying everything, killing him slowly, leaving him an empty and broken shell underneath a facade that never crumbles.

People stare at him, but he doesn't see them. Alana Bloom hugs him and he lets her, because he can't move away, because his body is crystallized and still: it doesn't feel like he's breathing, or that blood is still pumping in his veins.

He feels dead. And no amount of comfort can help him.

There's no body to bury, no grave to visit.

Life goes on, the world keeps moving, the days, then the months pass and...

And...

\---

Will thought of unsaid words and broken promises, of a pocket watch buried in one of his drawers, so he didn't have to see it all the time.

Sometimes he found a tie or a book or a cd stashed between his things. A reminder.

He never cried because all the tears had been dried by the strength of a sorrow he could not even name.

He was not allowed to mourn freely and in front of the world.

And mourning in the depths of his soul killed something inside him that once Hannibal's hands and kisses had brought to life.

Agents can die at any time.

They're just pawns.

No one cries for the pawns except other pawns who are still waiting to be sacrificed.

\---

He accept Zeller's courtship because the emptiness he feels right in his guts is too much to bear, because the cold around him is too strong and strangles his lungs.

Will lets him fuck him, lets him sleep in his bed, lets him enter his life.

Zeller is a good man under the harsh and abrasive attitude he uses as a shield as much as Will uses his cleverness; they fit in a routine that has no unexpected turns, that flows undisturbed and uneventful.

It has been a year and three months.

Will pretends and fakes something that isn't there, wishes he could be good enough to feel bad about it; but that part of him burnt out, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind.

There are holes in him that will never be filled, no matter how much he tries to, no matter how much time passes.

Sometimes he thinks that he simply doesn't want anyone to fill them.

\---

Why did you have to die? Why did you have to go?

Will wrote it on a piece of paper one morning, stared at the words for long, long minutes, hoping to start crying, to start screaming, to let out that ball of pain that had weighted in his chest for so long...

I loved you.

He scratched that away.

I love you. I will always love you, I can't stop loving you, I never told you... I never...

He didn't cry anyway.

\---

It has been two years and one month.

He opens the door of his empty house and caresses his dogs, who look oddly excited.

Will tries to smile at them, but he's too tired and only manages a short grin.

He makes it to the kitchen and starts to put food in the microwave, before he notices the figure standing in the dark living room. His hands are trembling and his eyes are covered by something that, it takes a moment to realize, are his own tears.

Hannibal Lecter smiles at him.

“Hello, Will.”

He starts crying with his face buried into his shoulder.


End file.
